6 AM, You Suck
Why is it that when you have a perfectly good opportunity on a Saturday to sleep past the usual Monday to Friday demand to rise and somewhat shine, you can't, or don't? It's six-something in the AM and I'm typing away because sleep is more illusive than Tiger Woods these days. I don't feel bad about it. I'm not necessarily frustrated. I just don't get the bad luck of it. It's conditioning, sure, but then so should be the grimacing I normally do Monday to Friday somewhere between 5:30am and 6:30am. At least the alarm is silent. That alone is a gift from some greater power. Someday, in my version of heaven or afterlife, or even of reincarnation, there are no alarm clocks.
Wait, there's another 6 AM philosophical quandary to be dealt with, aside from the 30 lb cat at the foot of my bed licking his junk...Just once in my life I want to wake up like the people on TV do, you know, not looking as though death has you out on loan? That might even become a life goal of mine, to achieve one of those mornings. You know the mornings that I'm talking about, where you look great and refreshed, ready to go at it...you don't have a mouthful of awful and there isn't a cobweb in sight. It might be an impossible dream but so was ravioli at one point, right? Somebody managed it.
Zo's still sleeping, barely I think, slumber is hanging on by a thread in the room next door but for these few lonely and quiet moments there is still a little girl sleeping next door. Last night I came home with flowers for June, she'd earned them with a week of no tears and an entirely new definition of her role as Mom. I grabbed a bottle of wine too, and we settled into a depressing night of Paul Newman and Jackie Gleason. Luckily for us even The Hustler and all of it's darkened pool room melancholy couldn't ruin a quiet night of celebrating the end of the week, and not just any week, June's first week back to work. We're not so wild or crazy these days but we're as happy as that cat at the end of the bed licking his parts, that's for sure, and he looks pretty damn happy, wouldn't you?
Wait, there's another 6 AM philosophical quandary to be dealt with, aside from the 30 lb cat at the foot of my bed licking his junk...Just once in my life I want to wake up like the people on TV do, you know, not looking as though death has you out on loan? That might even become a life goal of mine, to achieve one of those mornings. You know the mornings that I'm talking about, where you look great and refreshed, ready to go at it...you don't have a mouthful of awful and there isn't a cobweb in sight. It might be an impossible dream but so was ravioli at one point, right? Somebody managed it.
Zo's still sleeping, barely I think, slumber is hanging on by a thread in the room next door but for these few lonely and quiet moments there is still a little girl sleeping next door. Last night I came home with flowers for June, she'd earned them with a week of no tears and an entirely new definition of her role as Mom. I grabbed a bottle of wine too, and we settled into a depressing night of Paul Newman and Jackie Gleason. Luckily for us even The Hustler and all of it's darkened pool room melancholy couldn't ruin a quiet night of celebrating the end of the week, and not just any week, June's first week back to work. We're not so wild or crazy these days but we're as happy as that cat at the end of the bed licking his parts, that's for sure, and he looks pretty damn happy, wouldn't you?
posted by Unknown at
6:45 AM
1 Comments:
Sorry, 6am becomes a reality.
But so do naps. Middle of the day naps. Best thing ever. I dare say better than ravioli or being able to lick oneself "clean".
Well… maybe not the second part.
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